


Doesn't Fall Far

by Akaroku



Category: Radiata Stories
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ficlet, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, and none explicit, like briefly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaroku/pseuds/Akaroku
Summary: We never want to turn out to be like the people we hate. Sadly things don't always turn out the way you want.





	Doesn't Fall Far

Jarvis doesn’t even realize the bottle is empty until after he’s tilted it up to his lips and discovered a lack of moisture flowing down his throat. He finds it peculiar that such a large bottle would run dry so soon, so large in fact that his hand didn’t even come close to wrapping around the entirety of its body. What’s stranger is he could have sworn he had just entered into his home. Had he really chugged it all down on the short walk between the store and his house or had he been standing in his entryway longer than he previously thought.

The “how’s” soon start to fade away from the foreground of his mind, swirling into a sea of incoherent half formed thoughts as he squints into the opening of the bottle. The results his eyes find support the conclusion his mouth has made, finding only the faintest layer of moisture coating the inside as well as the green tinted, warped image of his kitchenette through the lens-like bottom.

He huffed in disappointment but was soon grinning when he remembered the weight of the paper bag in his other had was from the second bottle he had bought. At the time he had told himself he would save it for tomorrow. Something to help him save a bit of money instead of going to the bar and sparing him a trip to the store again. Now though, the thought of a nice hot shower followed by a second bottle before bed was much more titillating.

He lowered the empty bottle from his face and frowned when the sight of it elicited a bitter note. Suddenly the shape of it is no longer entertaining or exciting and he feels his gut leaping into his throat for reasons he was having a hard time placing. Had it gone bad and turned his stomach? Does alcohol even go bad?

Jarvis turns the forest green glass around in his hand as he digs through his muddled brain for any hint of why he’s feeling so put off. His gaze lingers on the generically curvy writing of the brand name and the tawdry design that tries to pass it off as something other than cheap wine.

The realization hits him with all the force of a charging bull, leaving him breathless and his skin prickling with the start of a cold sweat. He remembers bottles exactly like this from his childhood, sometimes with different labels but all the same combination of large and cheap. He remembers the increasingly disappointed look on his mother’s face as she seemed to always be finding at least one of such bottles hidden around the house every day. The distressed look she had whenever she had caught him and his brother innocently playing with them.

He remembers the patronizing smirks on his father’s almost permanently flushed face. How nothing ever seemed to be good enough for him and how the man seemed to relish in picking apart his flaws and ridiculing his interests. He can still remember the man’s laughter when he had confronted his parents about wanting to become a knight. How much it stung when he had said he wouldn’t even be able to land a job as a simple guardsman within a hundred years.

The stinging in his eyes draws Jarvis back to the present and he swallows down the thick feeling in his mouth, forcing it past the lump that’s started to form in his throat. He struggles to will away the thought that maybe the bastard had actually been on to something. That maybe he would have been better off just accepting the lot given to him at birth.

The tidal wave of negative emotions and uninhibited thoughts quickly becomes overwhelming. On pure reflex, he consolidates it down into raw anger and; with a cry of frustration, he reels back and chucks the empty bottle across the room. The force of his throw causes him to stumble back into his door and he glares with vexation as the bottle smashes to pieces against the far wall. Though cathartic, the destruction does little to console him.

His armor scraps against the hardwood as he slides down to the floor and fishes out the second bottle from the forgotten paper bag. He doesn’t bother to glance at the new bottle as he uncorks it, knowing full well it’s the same brand and therefore the same accursed bottle that’s gotten him feeling like this in the first place. If it weren’t such a waste he’d probably hurl that across the room as well.

With an ease that’s a little too well practiced for his own good, he throws his head back and gladly welcomes the bitter liquid into his mouth.  
He doesn’t let up, even when his lungs start aching for air and his stomach grows uncomfortably tight from the large volume he’s ingesting. It’s not until the dryness in his mouth starts to grow into a fiery burn that he stops, coughing and sputtering as red drips down his chin and the front of his clothing.

It doesn’t take long for a stronger rush of dizzy euphoria to hit him and he gradually forgets what had him so upset in the first place, falling into somber silence. He loses track of how long he sits there, staring with dazed wonder at how the evening light catches the green shards strewn about his floor.


End file.
